


Watercolors

by MachaSWicket



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Remembrance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:59:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2803706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY:  It’s Sara’s yahrzeit, and Felicity and Oliver share a moment of remembrance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watercolors

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to DC and Warner Bros. 
> 
> THANKS: to katelinnea, youguysimserious, and theawkwardterrier for excellent beta work on this. :) Any mistakes or inaccuracies that remain are my fault alone.

Oliver was much more observant than most people -- Felicity sometimes teased him about his paranoia. But his ability to _notice_ things, to note even the smallest variations in people or the environment had kept him alive more than once. So he made no effort to turn off this ability, or to dampen it, even in a place as secure as the lair. 

Which was why Oliver realized that something was different almost as soon as Felicity arrived at the foundry. Not necessarily _bad_ different, but -- she was subdued. Quiet, even.

Or quieter than usual, anyway, because Felicity was rarely _quiet_. Most days, she moved in her seat, her fingers flew across the keyboard, she hummed along to music when she had it on -- she was _present_ in a way that he’d always found fascinating.

But she was reserved tonight. It occurred to him belatedly that he hadn’t actually seen her all day.

“Hey,” she greeted him, placing her bag carefully on her workstation before shrugging out of the light cardigan she had on in deference to the early autumn chill. 

He scanned her quickly, cataloging everything. She was moving fine, wearing a sleeveless button down blue shirt he’d seen at least three times before and one of his personal favorite black pencil skirts. He didn’t see any bruises or other overt indications of injury.

But when he studied her face, he saw an extra layer of tension that he didn’t understand.

“Everything okay?” he asked, relieved that Roy and Diggle were out on some sort of food run. More and more these days, he wanted to be the one that Felicity confided in, the one she let comfort her when she needed it. He’d loved her longer than he could really quantify, and keeping her at arms’ length got harder and harder with each passing day.

Felicity, though -- she was still wary around him. Not with everyday things, just when her emotions were involved. He couldn’t really blame her, since he’d been the one to throw the brakes on and back away. But it still made him ache a little when she brushed him off.

Like now, when she simply gave him a small smile before firing up her computers. “I’m fine.” She pulled a few items out of her bag, organizing them near the edge of her workstation. He couldn’t quite see what she was doing, but his attention sharpened when he heard a match strike.

He leaned a bit to the side and saw a small white candle in a solid pewter candle holder, burning strongly. Felicity wasn’t a candle person, as far as he was aware, and aside from emergency supplies, he wasn’t sure a candle had ever been lit in their basement lair before. The scent of sulphur reached him and he wrinkled his nose, turning his attention back to Felicity, who was murmuring something he couldn’t make out, her back still resolutely turned to him.

He knew something was bothering her, though he wasn’t sure whether to let it go or ply her with questions. But when Oliver noticed the bright white of medical tape peeking out of the back of her sleeveless shirt, he stopped wavering. “Felicity?” he asked, and he was beside her in three quick strides. “What happened?”

She turned wide, confused eyes to him. “Oh,” she said, her left hand reaching up to cup her right shoulder, her fingers edging along the bandage. Her expression cleared and she gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m not hurt.”

Puzzled, Oliver let his fingers trace the large rectangular bandage he could see beneath her shirt. “Felicity...”

She stilled beneath his touch, her head tipping forward until the ends of her ponytail splayed across the top of his hand. Oliver resisted the urge to turn her around, to curl his fingers around her shoulders and pull her close. 

“I’m okay, I promise,” she whispered. “It’s not an injury.”

“They why is there a--?” He froze, eyes widening. 

Sighing, Felicity turned, taking a half-step back when she realized just how close they were standing. “I got a tattoo.”

Oliver blinked. “A tattoo,” he repeated.

The edge of her lips quirked. “It’s not my first tattoo.”

He swallowed hard, trying not to imagine _where_ her other tattoo -- _tattoos_? -- could be hidden. “Oh?” Considering the love/hate relationship he had with his own tattoos, he was more than a little surprised by his... _positive_ reaction to this news.

Her smile deepened momentarily, then faded. “Yeah.” She glanced over at the candle and then sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring this up.”

Oliver shook his head a little, lost. “Bring what up? Felicity--”

“Sara,” she whispered, watching him with trepidation.

Oliver felt the familiar sting of regret and sorrow when he thought about Sara. And the rage he still felt when he thought about Malcolm’s corruption of Thea.

They stared at each other while Oliver tried to fit all the pieces together -- the candle, the tattoo, and Felicity’s mood.

“It’s her yahrzeit,” Felicity said. “Oh, not that you should know really what that is,” she added quickly. “It’s a Jewish custom. Honoring the anniversary of your loved one’s death.”

Oliver frowned, “But it’s not--”

“Jewish calendar,” she interrupted. “It’s the 14th of Tishrei, which is Sara’s yahrzeit.” She watched him closely. “I got a tattoo for her. In memory of her, I mean,” Felicity explained, her voice low and uncertain, like she wasn’t sure how he’d react.

For his part, Oliver found his breath was suddenly unsteady. She’d marked her skin in memory of Sara. It was -- it was a lot. The grief hit him hard -- memories of Sara’s crooked smile, her unwavering confidence, her love for her family. Sara deserved better than what she’d gotten. Far better. “Felicity.” 

“I just--” She stopped, swallowed hard, her face angled away from him. 

They didn’t talk about Sara much, and Oliver knew it was because of the role Thea had unwittingly played, and the brutal consequences that followed. But maybe that wasn’t fair to Sara’s memory. Maybe that wasn’t fair to the people who loved her and lost her. Oliver dipped his chin and asked quietly, “You just what?”

Felicity watched him for a long moment, her eyes wide and wet, before the words began to tumble out, “I miss her. I know I didn’t know her the way you did, but she was so amazing and so strong -- she was larger than life to me. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

He had Felicity flush against his chest before he really thought about it, pressing his face down into the crook of her neck. He was surprised to feel hot tears on his face; he was less surprised to feel her small, strong arms wrap tightly around his waist. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, over and over, her cheek pressed flat against his chest. “I’m sorry, Oliver.”

He hugged her tighter, impossibly tight, and then loosened his grip to step back. “It’s okay, Felicity. You loved her, too.” He pressed his palms into his face, swiping the wetness away. “Can I see it?”

Felicity’s teary eyes widened. “What?”

“The tattoo,” he explained, then immediately backtracked. “I mean, if it’s too personal--”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just--” She flushed and looked away. “With my shirt…”

“Yeah,” Oliver nodded. “It’s okay. You can--”

“Just turn around for a minute,” she instructed with a nervous half-grin and a strange twirling motion of one hand.

Oliver obeyed, trying to hold himself steady as he listened the rustling sounds of her taking her shirt off behind him. He closed his eyes, his hands clenched into fists. This was hardly the time or place for his irrepressible reactions to her.

“Okay,” she said, her voice sounding a little nervous.

Slowly, Oliver turned back to her, exhaling a little forcefully when he saw the lines of her back covered only by the slim straps of her deep purple bra and the white bandage on her shoulder. Felicity twitched her right shoulder, letting her bra strap fall down to lay against her bicep. 

The sight did things to him he wasn’t exactly proud of, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to regroup.

“Oliver?” she asked, turning her head to meet his gaze over her bare shoulder.

He felt rooted to the spot, unworthy of the trust she was placing in him, had _always_ placed in him. But he stepped closer anyway, and brought his trembling fingers up to peel the bandage slowly and carefully from her skin. 

Her tattoo didn’t look like any tattoo he’d ever seen. There were no hard black outlines, no bold angry colors, nothing like the stark ink on his own flesh. Instead, it reminded him of a watercolor painting -- soft yellows, ambers, and greys, blending into a gorgeous portrait of a canary perched on a branch, its beak lifted skyward.

The pale flesh around her tattoo was still pink and a little puffy, shiny from the antibiotic ointment, and Oliver knew from experience the tattoo would look different after a few days of healing. But even still so fresh, even here in the dim light of the foundry-- “It’s beautiful, Felicity.”

She let out a little breath. “Really?”

“Really,” he answered, his fingertips barely skimming the head of the canary. Belatedly, he realized the placement, and it took him a bit of searching to confirm that the tiny scar from Tockman’s bullet had been incorporated as the small branch supporting the canary. “Felicity -- your scar--”

“I know it’s... _weird_ , probably,” she interrupted, half-turning to look at him. “But it felt like the only place that made sense for a tattoo for Sara. I think, after that, she maybe thought of me as a friend.”

Oliver closed his eyes against the memories. “She did,” he answered, his voice rough. “She loved you, Felicity.” He met her gaze again and let himself smile. “She would love this,” he told her. Something about the symbol of Sara rendered in the bright yellow palette that Felicity favored -- it was perfect. 

Felicity gave him a tentative smile, turning a little more to face him. “You think?”

“I do,” he answered, reaching out and letting his hand skim down her arm until he could take her hand in his. “And I love it, too.” He carefully kept his gaze on hers, not letting himself look down, even though he wanted badly to soak in the vision of her in her purple bra, her shirt dangling from one hand.

“Oh.” Her eyes widened and she whirled back around. “Sorry!”

Oliver chuckled. “It’s okay, Felicity.”

“Right,” she answered, nodding, and he grinned as her ponytail bobbed in front of him. “But -- yeah, sorry.”

He retrieved the bandage and carefully replaced it, gently pressing the tape into her skin before leaning in, just a little too close to her ear, and said, “Believe me, it’s more than okay.” And just once, just for a second, he let his gaze drop to her cleavage. 

When she shifted to pull her bra strap back into place, he backed off, a fond grin on his face. After she slid back into her shirt, she turned to face him with a slight blush across her cheeks. But she met his gaze with her chin up, and she was smiling when she said, “Perv.”

His answering laugh surprised them both, and he shrugged one shoulder. With a glance towards the small candle, Oliver leaned his hip against a table and said, “I miss her.”

Felicity nodded, dropping into her chair. “Me, too.”

They sat in companionable silence for a long moment, until Felicity tilted her head a bit and said, “Tell me your favorite Sara story.”

And that’s how they spent the next couple hours -- trading fond stories of their friend. For the first time in nearly a year, Oliver could think about Sara without drowning in the darkness of guilt and grief. He could think about the woman he’d loved without the details of her death crushing him. He could remember _his friend_ , because before everything else, and maybe more importantly than anything else, Sara had been his friend.

When Felicity headed out for the night, Oliver thanked her. She didn’t really understand why and he couldn’t begin to explain, his thoughts and feelings a jumbled mess. Felicity studied him for a moment, then wrapped her arms around him for a quick, strong hug. She pulled away and gave him a smile over her shoulder as she headed for the stairs. 

In the ensuing silence, Oliver found himself drawn to the candle, the small flame in remembrance of Sara glowing on Felicity’s desk.

THE END


End file.
